


raise me to your lips

by velificatio



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Barebacking, D/s undertones, Dirty Talk, M/M, Orgasm Control, Outdoor Sex, Rough Sex, Watersports, erotic humiliation, muddy sex, mysophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-24
Updated: 2014-10-24
Packaged: 2018-02-22 11:09:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2505614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velificatio/pseuds/velificatio
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The relationship was loose and the arrangement clear and simple; Eames found he had no real objections. How could he even think to refuse after all? Arthur just needed Eames to dirty him up from time to time. Stick in the mud indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	raise me to your lips

**Author's Note:**

> this fic would not exist without the wonderful grizzly_bear_bane, who gave me the encouragement to write this and did beta work and helped with the summary.

The first time they’d done this Eames took one step towards the PASIV and Arthur’s glare stopped him short.

“We’re not doing it that way.” He’d said, and reading the brief quirk of his lips Eames realized Arthur’s glare wasn’t one of disdain but a tease. A challenge.

So Eames fucked Arthur on his hands and knees in one of the dilapidated bathrooms of their team’s loft, dunking Arthur’s head down into a toilet in unpredictable intervals. It was a testament to just how rundown their base of operation had been that the toilet water was the clearest thing in the room.

In any case Arthur grew wild, unhinged in a shockingly delicious way. He’d writhed and gasped, painted Eames’ skin in flaming claw marks when he was let go. More or less tackled the forger and sank down on his prick. Arthur rode Eames as if he was in a rage, needed him to _hurt_ with every fluid motion of those slim hips.

He had hurt when he came; Arthur still bouncing on him while Eames spurt and let loose shout after shout. Came so long, so hard he nearly whited out.

Currently it was time number ten. A different team; although for some reason Cobb continued to be a sole constant and Eames had no desire to linger on that tidbit. A new location; an abandoned warehouse in Nevada; whose temperatures caused Eames to think of England far more than he’d prefer. And a different preference for their tryst; though his quip about rain actually happening enough in Nevada for muddiness to be possible fell on unamused ears.

Eames had entertained, briefly of course, what probable fixations of a more perverse nature Arthur was most likely to be concealing. Never once did general uncleanliness cross his mind. At least not with fluids and substances Eames would at first associate with anything but sex. 

Sure he could pop psychoanalyze it; mix Arthur’s mastery of professionalism, his taxing work ethic and his delightfully rampant sexual nature together for some kind of rationalization to this fetish. But why spoil good fun? All it took was that first glimpse of Arthur so wanton, so _wrecked_ and utterly devoid of shame for Eames to throw that need and his misperception out the window. The proof of just how well this casual arrangement sat with him was in his cock and bollocks, blissfully aroused and ready to burst just from watching, every single time.

There were hard limits; which Eames was quite alright with. The only blood allowed was Arthur’s own and yes, that’d also do just fine.

In fact Eames was just waiting for Arthur to call him one job; brisk and to the point. Tell him which exact, if any, weaponry to bring; how prepared his arse should be before Eames shoved down those skintight trousers and put his prick-

“Eames? What are you waiting for?”

While the urge to tap his foot was tempting enough, Arthur wasn’t ready to dissolve into self-parody just yet. He’d been careful as always, ensuring the rest of the team departed three hours earlier for the day.

 It was late afternoon, rain just a few hours past. Plenty of time to keep the miles of soil right outside the warehouse lot good and mucky.  Apart from the barbwire fence surrounding half of the perimeter there wasn’t much else to be seen in the area but overgrown weeds and assorted trash.

Off the grid, virtually unnoticed. A perfect location for Eames to stop daydreaming _and_ _start what they stayed for_. Arthur felt like a livewire waiting, anticipation and arousal pulsed through him.

Eames shook his head, chuckled. “Sorry darling, just trying to remember,” he said, “You told me you’d had one other person do this with you before?”

“Outside a dream, yes.” Arthur let his impatience show.

“Please tell me it wasn’t Cobb.”

Eames wasn’t expecting a verbal answer so much as a _tell_. But Arthur’s body language and expression gave nothing away. Which was either an answer itself or one of the best poker faces Eames had seen.

After a pause he shrugged, took one prolonged moment to take in Arthur as he was now. Dressed in a sharp, finely tailored (did Arthur even remember how to wear any other type of suit) dove grey Zenga  number. No vest in this weather instead the standard white pressed shirt beneath his buttoned up jacket; hair slicked back in place.

Immaculate, spotless.

It would be unspeakably arousing to contrast this image with how ruined Arthur would indeed appear by the end of this.  

Best get to that sooner rather than later.

Eames removed his shirt and pocket watch. Neither of them would be getting fully undressed but there were some items he wasn’t keen to muck up and his favorite paisley shirt was one of them. Eames gave Arthur another assessing glance.

“Take off the jacket.” he said. 

Arthur frowned but made no further protest. He quickly unbuttoned the first layer of his suit and tossed it over Eames’ shirt on the concrete. And while his back was turned Eames strode forward and without preamble grabbed Arthur by the back of his neck and threw him face down into the lot’s field.

Arthur’s hands flew out to break his fall, sinking into a dense pool of mud. He gasped at the sensation, dug his fingers in. Eames was on top of him before he even thought to sit from his hands and knees.

“Sometimes,” Eames teased, “I wonder if you even need me for this to get off Arthur. Think you could roll around in that waste and rub at yourself until you came?”

“Maybe I could,” Arthur shot back, trembling as Eames pressed him to lean down on his palms with a hand between his shoulders. He bit his lip, groaned at the added pressure on his stomach. On his bladder.

Eames undid Arthur’s slacks but made sure they stayed up in place. He spat on his palm twice, slicking his fingers.  Eames got a hand down the back of Arthur’s pants.  He gave a small hum of approval when he felt Arthur had forgone underwear today.

He began slowly; just two fingers scissoring Arthur’s rim open. Drawing out hot little gasps from those pink lips. Eames didn’t miss how Arthur squirmed even at the teasing pace. Something about the level of urgency in his limbs caught Eames’ attention.

Arthur wasn’t getting so worked up from sheer sexual arousal. _Arthur had to go_.

Filthy, filthy boy. Eames’ grin was devilish.

“Hmm, I’m not sure you’ll be ready for my cock quite yet darling. You have something much more, pressing, to take care of after all.”

“No, Eames, no no,” Arthur’s shoulders shook, whimpers turning into moans, “I can’t, please. _Eames_ …”

Eames yanked his head to the side, grip on Arthur’s chin hard enough to bruise. Muck smeared damp down Arthur’s jaw.

“You can, I know exactly how hot you are for it. You need to, don’t you?” Eames’ hand slid down to pet Arthur’s quivering abdomen, all but lapping up his high whines, “Isn’t that why you were swallowing down all those bottled waters today? Need to dirty yourself up well and good this time.”

Arthur thrashed, whimpered incoherent pleas. The real plea, however, was spoken by his body, pushing back until he was flush against Eames’ larger bulk. Rocking his arse on Eames’ fingers. Begging more, more, _more_ without words.

When Arthur made a half-hearted attempt to sit up Eames shoved him back down, put the flat of his palm on Arthur’s cheek when he turned his head to avoid an entire face full of mud. Keeping him there, ass in the air and his mouth open wide, filth caking the left side of his face and hair.

Arthur was nearly crying for it.

 “Christ, just listen to you. So filthy for me,” Eames pressed sharply into Arthur’s stomach, the fingers stretching Arthur’s hole pumping faster,” Go on then: Piss.”

Arthur made a hiccupped, desperate noise and then he was peeing. Fluid burned around his thighs, no doubt staining the ashen slacks beyond repair. He moaned out a string of “ _Fuck, oh fuck_ ,” voice higher and higher and it felt so good. Too good. Even as urine soaked a trail drown the front and back of his pants Arthur only rode the feeling out harder, panting in the grime Eames held his face into again.  He’d never quit fucking Arthur with his fingers, though his hand must be drenched now.

Damn if that fact didn’t get Arthur even hotter.

“Arthur, _Arthur_ ,” Eames said, slipping his fingers out of Arthur’s arse. Reverence dripped from his voice as Arthur whined in protest, hips shoving back, trying to get Eames’ fingers back inside him.

Eames grabbed two handfuls of Arthur’s dress shirt and _ripped_ , sent buttons popping. Before he’d even begun toying with those pink nipples Arthur was shuddering, shoulders racked by quakes. He twisted the pebbled nubs, pulled them out as far as he was able before letting go.  Repeatedly, just to hear those fucked out noises Arthur kept rewarding him with. Eames didn’t even have his prick in him. Yet.

Rising Eames dragged Arthur into a kneeled position; one dirty hand in his hair, the other around his neck. The grip on Arthur’s hair was cruelly tight, his scalp had to sting.

Eames bent over him, yanking Arthur’s head back so they made eye contact. Ignoring the strain on his back he leaned in close enough they could kiss with the slightest movement.

“What do you want Arthur?  Tell me.”

Arthur’s teeth were bared in a snarl but the arousal in his eyes didn’t wither. Quite the opposite.

“I want you to fuck me,” he grit out. Eames groaned at how Arthur might as well have said _I’m going to shoot you_ with such dark, dangerous tones.

“That’s my darling,” Eames purred, shifting his hold from Arthur’s neck up to pry his jaw open, “Pretty little slut,” He spit in Arthur’s mouth and his cock hardened to its peak when Arthur gave a quiet “ _ah_ ” in response, tongue poking out to lick at Eames’ plush bottom lip.

Eames pushed Arthur forward, grabbed hips firm and yanked his arse up again. He wouldn’t bother removing the dampened slacks; no, Eames pulled them a little ways under Arthur’s thighs enough to allow his legs to spread, but not too much, while he opened his own pants.

Arthur’s shirt was littered with copious blotches of grass and mud, hanging low on his arms. Baring most of his back to Eames who couldn’t resist setting his teeth to skin peppered with scars. He put his own temporary indents any place on Arthur’s back he could reach, sucked deep bruises along the line of his ribs. 

“Eames,” Arthur gasped, “fuck me, fuck me now.”

His hands were balled into fists, dirt sticking between the spaces of his fingers. Eames sat back, moved his hands to grip those pert round cheeks, spread Arthur open.

“You want my dick in there Arthur? My come?”

Eames let Arthur growl once before he began to shove in. Arthur was stretched and lubed but only to a point so Eames took a few minutes to work all the way inside.

Arthur cries were sweet and high pitched. Right then Eames decided he’d have that voice sounding as if it’d been dragged through concrete before they finished. His pace was punishing from the start, plunging strokes downward.  Arthur’s breath hitched with each one.

“Is that good?” Eames said. “This the fucking you wanted little pig?”

As usual the lewd rasp of that accent got Arthur panting. A husky “ _uh huh_ ” was the answer he gave Eames. With his pants only off so much his ability to move and urge Eames faster, harder, was slight. Balls slapped against his ass, the fat head of Eames’ cock nudged his prostate. Arthur bit his lip, tasting the copper tang of blood. He was close already but he needed more. Frustrated, he settled for clenching around Eames’ dick only to cry out when Eames responded by throwing a clump of mud into his hair.

“That’s it darling,” Eames’ smeared another fistful across Arthur’s lower back. Gave his arse a few piercing smacks, leaving muddy handprints overlaid with one another. Dirt caked on reddened skin, bruises blooming wherever Eames held him and every breath Arthur took was a sob.

It wouldn’t be long now, Eames felt his own climax winding up. Still he had an order to enforce.

“Don’t you dare come Arthur. Not until you’re told.”

For good measure Eames gripped Arthur’s balls with one hand, pleased by his squirms and whines. He pounded into Arthur, felt his rim spasm, so ready for Eames to shoot. His arse was bouncing each time Eames’ pelvis slammed into him. Arthur kept pleading through gasps and moans. Eames had fucked any impatience out of him. There wasn’t anything left except raw need.  The sound was obscene.

Eames pulled out fully but kept Arthur spread open. Ropes of saliva dripped from his mouth into the gaping stretch of Arthur’s puffy hole. A little wail pitched from Arthur and Eames’ chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Feel that, don’t you? Gotta have you full Arthur. I want you dripping with me.”

Arthur’s pants grew shorter and shorter. He clawed at the ground, rubbing his face against the sludge of earth, wiping extra mud onto his chest and stomach. “Eames, more. More!” Arthur knew he was writhing now; lost to painful want and the hollowness left from Eames removing his cock. “Your come, _please_. Need it.”

Taking him by the hair Eames drug Arthur up onto his hands. He shoved two thick fingers into Arthur’s open mouth, thrust in and out deeper and deeper.  Arthur choked and jolted back reflexively away from the invasion. But he moaned all the same too, swirled his tongue around the sullied digits. Tasting gritty caked mud and the sharp, overwhelming salt and bitterness of Eames’ semen from hours before. Their quick fuck on Arthur’s work desk.

“You’re going to come this way; or not at all.”

The wet, sloppy sounds of his gags rang in Eames’ ears. He fucked his fingers faster, driving down into Arthur’s throat repeatedly, and thrust his cock back into him. Soon Arthur’s slender form was shaking, and precome spread all over Eames’ hand where he jerked him. He was close. Just needed an extra push.

“C’mon Arthur, squeeze that pretty cunt on me,” Eames leaned forward, nipping the lower lobe of Arthur’s ear, “Let me feel it.”

Eyes fluttering Arthur came with a shout, clenched around Eames’ cock. His forehead dipped on the ground, eyes squeezing shut while his pants and groans rang in the air.  And he felt Eames come too before he heard his moan, shoving into Arthur so every spurt of warm fluid shot further inside him.

Though his dick was oversensitive Eames still gave a few more thrusts into Arthur as he rode his orgasm out. He didn’t start to pull out until Arthur’s knees gave out and he flopped into the dirt.

Once he’d withdrawn Eames slapped Arthur’s backside, “Finger your arse. Make yourself come again.”

Teary as his eyes were, Arthur couldn’t see more than the blur of Eames’ shoes when Eames stood and walked around him. He moaned, harsh, back bowing as he pumped two fingers into his sore asshole. They were coated with drying mud and stank of piss from where he’d tried to stroke his cock.

At the heady sensation of saliva and come gliding over the slender digits Arthur gasped, sparks of newborn excitement spiked in his belly.

“Does it feel good Arthur? That mess on you; inside of you?”

Eames’ voice felt too heavy for his own throat; his spent prick gave a valiant twitch at the sight of Arthur so thoroughly losing himself there on the ground. He wasn’t even sure his words registered.

But Arthur nodded, near frantic. “Yeah, god yeah.”

His throat had grown so hoarse every sound Arthur made was one he’d thought himself incapable of. He panted, dug his face down further into the dirt and grime of the lot while he played with Eames’ come in him. Massaged his prostate with relentless pressure. _Fuck_ , he was so wet inside, filled up with spit and semen; dripping down his bruised thighs onto the stained slacks of his suit. He could clean his fingers free of the dried mud from this alone. And when he licked his lips, all he tasted was sweat and earth.

Even after his first orgasm Arthur’s dick hadn’t softened. Now it was flushed red and leaking at the tip with each thrust of fingers and jerk of hips. His face scrunched up, hung on a knives edge between agony and ecstasy and leaning more and more towards the former. So good, it felt so good like this but it wasn’t, it wasn’t…he couldn’t…

“What’s wrong darling?”

“I need,” Arthur said, voice cracking like glass underfoot, “Oh fuck, Eames. I need -”

Watching, Eames groaned and squeezed his cock through his pants. “It’s not enough, is it? You need more.”

“Yes, more. All of it _… I want it_ , please.”

In a slow, deliberate tease, Eames unzipped his trousers. Bit his bottom lip. Oh how he wanted to push Arthur’s hand aside, give that red, gaping flesh the second pounding it was practically crying out for. Arthur’s entire filthy, sweat slick body cried out for it. Marks, brands Eames gave him no less, of purple and red spread on miles of normally pristine skin. Instead Eames’ appreciation was a low growl. He circled Arthur.

This would have to suffice.

 _It might even be better_.

“Don’t fret baby. I’ll give you what you need.”

There was a blatant smirk coloring Eames’ voice. Arthur paid it no mind, barely even noticed. Too busy humping onto his own hand, trying to open his legs more and fuck himself deeper.

Then wet heat soaked the small of Arthur’s back.

He cried out as it rained down on his shoulders and wrecked his hair even further. Arthur’s mouth parted in a wail when streams of Eames’ piss met the crack of his ass, pouring down over his opening, spread between fingers and thighs.

God he’d be bathing for _hours_ trying to scrub off the scent alone. Arthur felt the sense of claim, of ownership and his cheeks flushed hot. By now he looked and surely smelled foul but the weight and heat of Eames’ gaze never lifted. Arthur knew without question he was still the only thing Eames felt worth seeing. He was laid bare of everything, polluted inside and out.

And he felt incredible. He felt elevated.

He might have cursed, said Eames’ name like he was a god, a revelation. There was a moan, guttural, not his. Arthur’s eyes rolled back as his orgasm hit with such force his chest heaved violently, his back long painful arch while his rim contracted over and over.

Arthur slumped and Eames wasted no time going to him. Carefully he turned Arthur, taking in his dazed expression, the content smile framed by dimples he could barely make out from all the mud on Arthur’s face. Arthur laughed, his gaze on Eames so grateful the forger felt himself blushing. With care he lifted Arthur, hands under his knees and around his back.

“Let’s head in yeah? I’ll draw a bath in that ridiculous vintage tub you imported here.”

Eames got a playful smack on the cheek for that. Arthur yawned. “Don’t even try to pretend you don’t like it Mr. Eames. I saw how you were staring yesterday.”

“Yes well, one learns to sense when something inevitable is coming.” Eames said.

In the beginning Arthur kept insisting Eames needn’t stay for this part. He’d handle himself just fine. And Eames trampled over the polite dismissal and Arthur’s patient objections until by time number five it was understood he wouldn’t leave then. Eames played an integral role in mucking Arthur up so thoroughly. It sit right not to pitch on the cleanup effort so to speak. He wouldn’t examine or explain his motivations beyond that. Arthur accepted them all the same, with something like gentleness in his eyes.

Arthur knew how to cover the necessary angles. Eames had a fair amount of grime soiling his own skin and pants. There’d be an extra set of clothes for the both of them inside. He bent to let Arthur gather what few articles of clothing they’d discarded.

A hot bath was ideal. Not only would Arthur invite him in but Eames got to seize the chance to scrub Arthur back to his regular form. He’d never be able to decide which side of Arthur was more appealing. Eames would wash the dirt and rank stench they’d coated him with precise, methodical care until his pale skin was on display again. They’d be in that tub so long the water would shift from scalding to frigid. As was often the case. Eames never complained.

After all, it was his favorite part.


End file.
